Against Time
by Sharp Tongued
Summary: Time keeps records of all things remembered and yet to happen.


**Title: **Against Time

**Pairing:** Seamus/Pansy

**Rating:** PG

**Word Count: **1000

**Disclaimer:** Don't own; too bad about that.

**Summary: **Time keeps records of all things remembered and yet to happen.

**A/N:** Ah, I blame Skoosie and Kaz for the strange pairing. The idea had been dancing in my head and as my muse follows my moods, I was in the mood to write this. It's been edited twice by me, and if any glaring mistakes are made it's fully my fault. Also, the piece was inspired by Alan Jackson's song, "Monday Morning Church." It doesn't follow the song, just inspired it.

The last time he had been in a church was Christmas Mass, six months before the final battle of the War. That had also been the last time he had seen his mam alive, and his parents had been laughing when walking out. Four years, three months, and seven days ago today. More days than he cared to remember since his last confession.

His father had insisted that the child be raised in both worlds, once his mother's secret was out. So on the hols from school, he would attend church with his parents, to remember both sides of his heritage. That was before her death. Killed only because she had been a witch married to a Muggle, for simply falling in love with someone some crusty old man had considered inadequate. Purposeless. That was the day the War became real, and he had sided with Dumbledore, preparing for battle.

Whether he had lived or died hadn't mattered. Something snapped that Christmas; squashed something deep within him. He was no longer the bright-eyed Irishman that made everyone laugh. The energy was no longer in him. 'Fight, avenge, win' was his mantra when his schooling demanded he stay put and hold off combat just a little longer.

One year, six months, three days, and fifteen minutes ago, he had met her again. Someone he despised in school for choosing the _other_ side, the side that killed his mum. Arguing over everything, fighting over the past. He never planned on asking her to dinner three months after that initial meeting -- for all the moralistic reasons he had been raised with through his family -- but he had. She asked why, suspicious after the way society treated her for prior crimes. Answering with honesty he no longer knew he had for anyone besides those that believed and fought beside him, she had accepted.

One date lead to another and suddenly nearly six months had passed from that one fluke date. They were more alike than he had cared to consider before. She had sided with her family because it _was_ family; Right or Wrong really didn't matter to her. She had sided with what she had known to be true in the same way he had chosen to fight for what he knew to be Right. Then they found out that they had liked some of the same teams in Quidditch, a game that no one but him knew she liked, not even her once betrothed Malfoy. Tastes in food, music, and so many other little things were all similar as well.

Fours months, six days, and twelve hours ago they had married in a quiet ceremony with a few friends and remaining family; willing people to get along for their sakes'. Dean had been his best man, Millicent her maid of honor. Trying to unite the two sides, Daphne and Hermione were bride maids while Theodore and Neville were the groomsmen. No more than a hundred people in attendance, since most of their classmates and families were fractured or dead at the hands of enemies. A priest – at Seamus's insistence – presided over the ceremony, not a wizard, inside the ruins of his mother's ancestral castle that had long since been destroyed. It was time to try things his father's way, to leave the wizarding for a while in order to heal.

Six hours, twenty minutes, and three seconds since Pansy had been taken into St. Mungo's for complications in her pregnancy. The baby girl would be fine, the Healer had said. Mother and child needed to be cared for, so please leave and them handle the problem.

Ten minutes even that he had been praying to a god he had thought long since abandoned him. Calling on every deity he had ever heard mention of he prayed for his wife and child to pull through, to have the family that had been planned.

Six minutes left until midnight, until Sunday turned into Monday and the world still went round. He counted down the minutes on the clock with bated breath. Hoping beyond hope that his family would be alive to see many more days.

At midnight he Apparated back to the hospital, anxiously awaiting news. Pacing the floor, a lone figure came into his view. A gangly redhead walked up and took his hand. Ginny. One of the few survivors on the side of good. How he had missed her since she had left England. Visiting Italy, to recover from the shock of losing so many of her family members, meant she was out of reach most of time.

When the Healer came up to them looking weary, he was thankful for the support. Baby was fine, though a few months early, she would survive. The mother – Pansy, he demanded she be called – was in critical condition. Muggle medicine hadn't helped her at the beginning of the pregnancy and no one knew how to make her better.

So they waited. Healers, husband, friend and child all waited to see how she would fare.

Ten hours, three minutes, and thirteen seconds after the Healer came to tell the news, Pansy woke up, weakly calling for her husband. When he came in, she looked him over and said, "You look worse for the wear, Finnigan. Take a bath. She'll need you" before closing her eyes for the final time.

The six minutes following Pansy's death, Seamus found his blonde-haired, green-eyed daughter in his hands, looking peaceful amidst the chaos. He named her Emily Rose; the name Pansy had picked out just days before if it were a girl. He promised her to tell her all about her mother and the sacrifices made to bring her into the world. Cheeks damp with tears, he kissed his daughter's forehead before handing her back, hating that she had to leave his sight, even if only for a moment.

One second into his new life. Two, then three; soon a full minute had passed.

Life would invariably move on.

**A/N 2: **So, yes. She died. I know, I know. It was sad. I wanted her to live but she insisted it be necessary that she die. Something about her drama queen tendencies, in my opinion.


End file.
